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Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Christmas Past...

Merry Christmas, I wrapped it up and sent it...

That's a line from George Michael's "Last Christmas," which is playing in the background as I type this. (Christmas eve confession: this song made me cry at 16 on Christmas eve). I was such a boycrazygirl. As I watch my daughter grow, I never worry too much of her habits or whether she will become something because if you look at who I was as a teenager, I had impressive goals of "move to California," "become a professional surfer or waterskiier," and to make money, "own a pet store." Let's just say people change.

Was I writing then? Yes, but I didn't understand that people made lives as writers. My father aimed me towards college (maybe hoping a little I'd get a business degree--I am stronger at math than English--but honest when he said, "Kelli, it doesn't matter what 4 year degree you get, employers just want you to have one to show you can finish something."

Writing was considered more of a hobby, but I could major in English (with a writing emphasis) if I wanted to and I did. How I got from there to here is a long story of choices and a voice inside me that kept telling me I was on the wrong path (but what other path could there be? I wondered.) To others my choices looked spontaneous (oh be warned, the Capricorn gal is rarely truly spontaneous, all things have been thought out and considered, just maybe not spoken) and maybe a little reckless. But the thing was, all the choices I had made with my head were wrong. But every choice I made with my gut or heart, turned out better than expected.

As a Capricorn, a realist, the daughter of a business man, this made little sense to me. All my life I thought I was to make the best decisions and invest wisely, which to me equaled "the most secure" decisions. It wasn't until I let go of this idea that there was anything secure in life that I could really live. Still, sometimes I still deal with it, that my life doesn't look like the lives on TV or other people or families, but now I find contentment in that. Of course, my life doesn't look like anyone's life, it's my life. But what a long journey to figure that out...

So for Christmas Past, I am glad I no longer am the young woman in nylons and darling Benetton power suit, or the girl crying in her Mustang, or the person who thought writing was only a hobby. Sometimes it's the smallest voices inside of us we need to listen to, especially if they are the ones that keep whispering and never go away.